Untitled 23 Poem by RIC BASTASA

i stab
the fried banana
with a fork

pieces eaten
with joy in my heart

i stir coffee with cream
hot water inside the cup of white porcelain

i hear the ringing
of the door bell

and i do not mind
who is it what is it

i expect no one
this early morning

as i begin to piece together
broken glasses of memories

i dare love no one
and i dare no one to love me

there is an island of coffee with creams
inside the cup of porcelain

no one stirs it
except myself

i feed myself piece by piece with
a fried banana stiffened with bread crumbs

deep fried and well cooked
self, selfish upon itself

on a Maunday Thursday
the silence creeps like soft feet of a white butterfly on my arms

the windows are open
the air is free to go inside and play and be wary about its own molecules

the door is closed
no one is allowed to get in at this hour of my reflection

a day as mirror
a self as shadow cast upon a self upon a self

there is no language from the body
this time

only fools, only fools,
rising above themselves

saving life on some memoirs
a biography of another bigot begotten by this ghoul.